A gay story: I Am Not Going To Cry Summer Lovin’ contest entry, folks. Last fucking minute, as always.
– Transverse
*
The wedding is over. Nate left early, told the bride he needed a shower, or a flower, or a towel? I don’t fucking know, he was mumbling like he does when he’s lying or afraid. I’m at his front door now – the one I no longer have keys to – alone in the dark of the enclosed hallway. The door has one of those giant glass panels that lets any passing dickhead look inside. A cat I didn’t know he had sits on the arm of the sofa looking curiously at me. My old table is gone and there’s a new one with better chairs. I am not going to cry.
I almost fall over when he suddenly appears in that fucking window. His hair is wet, so I guess he really did take a shower.
He cracks the door.
“The hell do you want?”
His tongue trips over the words, but I’m definitely the drunker of the two of us, which fills me with a confused pride.
“What happened to my table?”
He narrows his eyes, then rolls them. “Get off my fucking porch, Danny.”
I lean against the door and press my face into the gap so it’s only an inch or so from his.
“You smell like grapefruit.”
I was never any good at this seduction shit. He wants me, too, by the looks of things; his gaze keeps darting downward before snapping back up.
“No,” he says.
“What?”
“Get out.”
“To where?”
“Not my problem.”
“My place is like five miles away.”
“Get a taxi.”
“In this fucking town?”
“Get out.”
“You really want me to drive?”
Our faces are practically touching through the narrow gap; we’re breathing drunkenly into each other’s mouths. He growls and lets the door open all the way and I tumble toward him, scaring the cat out of the room. He catches me like he always has and drags me over to the couch.
“You can’t be here,” he says. The plastic cases of his CD collection gleam in the lamplight; his old school trophies, too. Lumpy clay bowls from this one pottery class he took. The whole room is like that, stuffed with too much furniture, shelves full of all the crap I used to make him keep in the garage. “We’re not doing this.”
“I’m not doing anything.” My head is in his lap and I turn to face his belly, my cheek resting on his zipper. “No one’s doing anything, fuck off.”
His brow folds into an angry line but his eyes rake over me like I’m a braless sorority girl in a wet t-shirt. He’s digging his hands into the couch cushions.
“Come on, man. We promised to stop. We agreed.”
We’ve promised and agreed and decided a hundred times over the years, through high school, through our pathetic attempts at graduating college, through whatever you want to call the adolescence we dragged with us through our twenties until it got too embarrassing to be drunk at four in the morning and couch surfing and shoplifting Doritos. So we took jobs at UPS and got a real apartment and promised and agreed and decided. Again.
We have to stop.
This is ridiculous.
We can’t be serious.
We’re being stupid.
Why can’t we just stop?
We’re not even serious!
Everything is ridiculous.
And now everyone’s married or moved away or started a furniture business or otherwise grown the fuck up, and here we are again, drunk, our cocks aching and stiff and safe in our pants, reciting our vows.
“So what.”
“So leave!”
“You leave.”
“This is my house.”
“A carriage house is not a real house.”
“Danny – ”
“I paid for this place.”
“You did not.”
“I paid the deposit.”
“You moved out.”
“You kicked me out!”
My shout shocks both of us and we just sit and lay, respectively, while the cat bats around something plastic in the kitchen. For a long moment it’s the only sound.
“I…” He looks seriously at me. “I didn’t kick you out.”
“You did.” I am not going to cry. “You made me leave.”
“We both thought it was for the best – ”
“Fuck you.”
“So it’s my fault now?”
“You kicked me out.”
“We needed our own places,” he pleads. His hand is on my neck and he strokes my cheek with his thumb. “Separately.”
“Why?”
“You know why.” He sighs. “We couldn’t stop.”
“We could.”
“We couldn’t even make it two days,” he snaps.
“Fuck you, I made it two days.”
“No you didn’t, when?”
“That time you said you wanted to date the Sheetz girl, the tall one, remember?”
“That was barely one day.”
“It was at least two days.”
“We took a shower together that same fucking day, Danny.”
“We didn’t promise not to shower.”
“You came on me!”
“That doesn’t count.”
“What?”
“It doesn’t count.”
“In what universe does that not count?”
“It’s debatable.”
He laughs openly and leans down and very nearly kisses me. Stops just in time, and we’re suddenly sharing air like we were at the door. We’re both fully hard now; I can feel the shape of his whole cock along the side of my face, and no surprise there, because the only foreplay we’ve ever needed is talking about how we didn’t need to fuck and legislating what counted as fucking and pinky-swearing to stop all the fucking we’d been doing.
“It doesn’t count,” I say, unzipping him with my free hand. The other one is trapped under his thighs, like they’re pillows. “We can just start over tomorrow. It doesn’t matter.”
He must have slipped his pants back on right after he got out of the shower because I’m stroking the skin of his cock instead the “silk” underwear he pays too much for. He hisses and tightens his grip on the back of my neck. I turn my head and suck his thumb into my mouth and he groans, staring down at me without blinking.
“You son of a bitch,” he says. I pull him all the way out of his pants, gripping him as loosely as I can, hardly touching him. “You son of a bitch.”
I run my tongue over his thumb and spit it out.
“It’s just hands,” I tell him. “Hands don’t count, remember? That was a rule we had once.”
He lets out a long, low moan and strokes my cheek again. His eyes are closed now. I squeeze his shaft a little tighter, give him a few strokes. No one’s touched him since I left, that’s clear now, and I’m so glad I could cry, but I won’t. I’m not going to do that.
“Guess the Sheetz girl didn’t pan out,” I whisper against the leaking tip of his cock, teasing it with my thumb.
He suddenly pulls me by the hair away from his dick and kisses me, deeply and without the hesitation, without the ambivalence that he used to have before I left, before he sent me away, and for the first time in so long we’re not trying to control how much we like it.
He sighs and pulls away, shoving my lower half to the floor and freeing my arm from under his legs. It’s numb, except for my fingertips, which feel like they’re being stabbed with hot needles.
I settle between his legs and slip him into my mouth. He melts into the couch cushions and spreads his legs wider, filling his hands with my hair. I could only ever swallow half of him, but my hand can do the rest.
It’s a comfort, sucking his cock. Been almost a year since I tasted him, since I felt that weight on my tongue, on the insides of my cheeks, my lips. He’s not that thick, so my jaws don’t hurt and I can just enjoy his thrusting and moaning mumbling my name. Uncut, so my tongue can play with the extra skin. There’s so much precum I can’t keep it all in my mouth and it starts to dribble out, and he cries out when he sees that, he’s never been able to handle seeing anything dripping from my mouth, it makes him crazy.
His hands tighten in my hair and he tenses up, trying to prolong the moment, trying to delay the inevitable. He’s straining under my hand, thrusting against his own will, and I close my eyes and stroke him harder, faster, tease his hole with my tongue. Relax into the feeling of Nate losing control, overwhelmed by his orgasm, by his feelings. By me.
That first squirt of come hits my tongue and a moan escapes me, and I pull him out of my mouth but keep stroking and it splatter my lips, my cheek, my chin. He’s staring at me like he’s trying to set me on fire, and even when he’s stopped squirting his orgasm isn’t over, his little moans continuing for what feels like an hour.
The cat comes back in after a while. It hops onto the back of the couch and perches there, staring down at me.
“What’s her name?”
“Jason,” he says. He reaches back to pet the cat but doesn’t turn to look at it. He’s still burning holes in my head with the intensity of his gaze. “He was a stray.”
“You really named a fucking cat J – ”
My zipper drags across the head of my cock and I gasp and shut my eyes to keep from coming. he strokes my hair and leans down to kiss the top of my head.
“I missed you.”
I don’t have it in me to speak so I focus on breathing. Nate understands, he’s always understood who I am, what I need.
“Unzip them,” he says softly in my ear. Just the words are almost enough to send me over the edge. “It’ll help.”
“Fuck you,” I bite out.
He giggles – he actually fucking giggles – but then he reaches suddenly down and yanks my zipper open. I’m too surprised to come, but I jump to my feet like there’s a spider on me, and Nate’s got both of his hands over his mouth and is laughing far harder than is really kind.
“I’m glad this amuses you,” I say breathlessly, wiping his cum off my mouth with my sleeve. I peel off my underwear while I’m still distracted. The buttons on my shirt are too hard to undo with my hands shaking so badly, so I just tear them open and throw the shirt on the floor with everything else and walk up to Nate.
“My turn.” The mere presence of his face so close to my naked cock is making me leak. “Open up, giggles.”
He doesn’t open up and he doesn’t stop laughing. Instead he stands and pulls me by the hand, careful not to accidentally brush my cock.
He’s rearranged the bedroom, because of course he has, and there’s a new bedspread but the same old pillowcases, one of which was a Spider-Man one he gave me for my birthday in ninth grade. I am not going to cry.
“I have a surprise for you.” He’s noodling around in a drawer. “Lay down.”
“You have a surprise for me?” I climb onto the bed and lay on my back. “You didn’t even know I was coming over here.”
He drops onto the bed beside me and wiggles it in my face. It’s a toy.
My toy.
The one I thought I had lost.
The one I’ve been looking to replace for months.
It’s a long, thin wand, not one of those ones that’s the same size as a cock. It has eleven different pulse settings, and a remote. It was my favorite because I don’t even need to prep to use it.
“You stole this?”
“Can’t steal what’s already mine.”
“It’s mine!”
He shrugs. “It was ours.”
“Have you been using it?”
“Maybe.”
“You never even liked it! You said it was boring!”
He shrugs again, but doesn’t look quite so self-satisfied this time. The heat creeps back into his eyes. He reaches into the drawer again and pulls out one of the little condoms it comes with and rolls it on.
“Guess it wasn’t that boring…”
But his eyes are poring over me again, like he planning to eat me and doesn’t know where to start. My cock leaks a little more as we twirls the wand in his hand.
“I didn’t really use it,” he mumbles. “Not like that…”
“Hmm?” It’s hard to focus. “What?”
“I just…” He looks suddenly ashamed. “You loved it. And then you moved out, and I would just think about how hard it would make you come, and how much you needed it, and you didn’t have it. And…”
It takes everything in my power not to reach for my cock.
“I used to…watch.” His gaze is pinned to my cock. “I…you didn’t always know, you know? That I was there. And you would – ”
“Shut the fuck up.” Two or three strokes would send me over the edge; I don’t have long. “Just do it. Now.”
He squirts a little lube on it and I bend my knees and spread, and as soon as it’s a few centimeters in I know it’s a lost cause. It isn’t even on yet, for Christ’s sake. God, I’ve missed this fucking thing.
He remembers how far in I like it and he stops, breathing almost as hard as I am, practically chewing on me with his eyes, the fucking voyeur that he is.
“Can I turn it on,” he whispers. He can’t tear his eyes away from my crotch. “What setting – ”
“It doesn’t matter!”
I’m about to crawl out of my skin. Usually I leave it on the lowest setting and let it take as long as it takes, luxuriating in it until I tumble over the edge. I know that’s what he wants to see, me edging myself, but it’s gonna be a short show tonight.
I don’t even have time to register the setting – the first pulse sets me off like a rocket. My cock feels like it’s being electrocuted in the best way possible. I hear myself screaming, I feel come landing on my belly, but I’m also outside my own body, floating somewhere, made of a squirting cock and nothing else. Nate is touching me all over, I can feel him, but I can’t see anything, can’t move, can’t breathe.
“Stay,” I hear him saying, or I think I hear him saying. Hope I hear him saying.
But the ringing in my ears is too loud to be sure.
*